


Storm Warning

by upquarkAO3



Series: Lucifer: Post Season 1 - Pre Season 2 [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Come ON - it's getting ridiculous now, Gen, Lucifer gets his proverbial knickers twisted. Again., One of several ways in which Chloe could get a dang clue, She's too smart to stay in the dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:50:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7938688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upquarkAO3/pseuds/upquarkAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[PART TWO OF THIS SERIES! Order is Leather and Pop Rocks, Storm Warning and Apocalypse Later]</p><p>Set immediately after Leather and Pop Rocks. Darker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Storm Warning

**Author's Note:**

> I struggle quite a lot with Chloe’s voice and suspecting it’s her deliberate choices of cognitive dissonance decided to fiddle with one (of several) ‘Chloe Finally Gets a Clue’ scenarios. I love Chloe. I want her to act as smart as she is.

[ - ]

There was no lightening along with that thunderclap….just a deep slow roll of the sort one could feel echoing primordially in the hollows of ribs and rearrangement of heartbeats in a reverberant apian thrum. Hearing the footsteps of God walking had he feet could not have had greater effect on the two hellions, and the pointed stare shared between demon and her Devil indicated things might rather **be** a little worse than said deity out on a lark, actually. **Blast**. Trixie halted herself mid-spin, days’ worth of receding anxiety bubbling back to her surface and the strained expression of mature fear on a young face made everyone react.

Chloe and Dan might be at odds on several divergent axis, but they were a mother and father first: talking over each other companionably as she ran to them. “It’s all right, munchkin…”/ “Trixie babe, just a storm. And we **could** use some rain; aren’t you tired of dragging around the watering can?”

Penelope was no fool. She watched her daughter and errantly estranged son-in-law (a title that was likely to change sooner rather than later) and they seemed to have the parent thing well in hand. Good. **Next**. She was lifelong actor, and it didn’t matter worth a whit of either caliber or genre. Honing that art meant she’d spent a seriously intense amount of time in observation of people and expression…and the look shared between Chloe’s partner and his ‘business associate’ decked out in S &M lite was rife with…well, quite a lot. She was careful not to let her own expression reveal anything other than mild bemusement, and took it upon herself to direct the divergence of flow she felt in the room. These were **all** children needing tending in her estimation, and  someone had to.

“Trixie honey? Why don’t you help me make sure the windows are all closed, you know, just in case it pours?”

The little girl looked up from her mother’s shoulder, still fearful.

Penny smiled and extended a hand to her granddaughter. “Everything’s fine sweetheart, but you know I have just a touch of arthritis in this one wrist…ahh, those stunt days….” She shook her head knowingly, implying a great story: **exactly** the kind that Chloe  hated her to tell in temptation of Trixie’s own delusions of grandeur. “…so I could really use the help. What do you say?”

The bait was snapped up.

“Sure, Nana! I’m strong.” Relief shining in the high voice to have a manageable mission…and be privy to some juicy tales.

“Yes my sweetie, you so are. Let’s start with upstairs, first, okay?” Penelope glanced over at the couch where she’d left her daughter, receiving a glare of the ‘thank you but don’t you dare’ variety which she ignored as a point of course. Where exactly did Chloe thing she got that glare from? Silly pumpkin. Dan seemed blank. Again. Penny sighed; well, the guy **had** just been through the wringer, and more on tap deserved or otherwise. She lowered her head slightly and spun her gaze over to Lucifer, his eyes on Maze as she stalked toward where he was leaning against the fridge. Still looking over her shoulder, Penelope took Trixie’s hand and began to climb the steps. Lucifer felt the weight of her scrutiny and glanced up. He had the grace to blanch a little at the strength in it, and Penny inclined her head a touch more. The unspoken message was clear, ‘if you truly want to be here, be sure you earn it’.

He did, and he’d tried and would continue to do so. Damned if he could suss all the ‘why’ himself sometimes, but there it was.

The sounds of Penny and Trixie chattering above them set the unlikely foursome more at ease on one count, but not others.

The detectives assessed each other from couch to chair using professional and personal knowledge to combat shorthand communication and the lousy timing. Chloe and Dan had had no real chance to clear the air between them since Dan’s unexpected confession, and it wasn’t looking good right now, either. Especially now with the sudden increase of tension. So much to discuss…so much to choose to say, or omit…and whether things were said or not, so **much** ground yet to cover. They’d loved each other once. Still did, in their way. And while flawed, their daughter and her well-being meant forging anew, though neither could yet wield the proper tools handily to do so. It didn’t feel like a good time now either, but with the few phrases and exchanges spoken low, they tried to lay a new framework for their evolving situation.

In the kitchen, Maze and Lucifer did the same, speaking in hushed tones with the same sense of urgency.

“Do you think…?”

“Yes of **course** , _‘I think…’_. Don’t be  dull, Mazie. Not bloody now when I might have dire need of your ‘sharpness’.” Lucifer sucked a slow lungful through bared teeth before he leaned in close to her, hot breath hissing in her ear. “And don’t forget your role here either, darling. You exist to protect me and my…interests.”

‘Yes I do,’ thought the demon, focusing mostly on the first part of his last statement. ‘From **all** danger, whether you can see it coming or not.’ And he clearly had no idea of what risk he was truly in. It made certain decisions…lay easier on her  mind, if nothing else. “She’s close now. We should probably go…keep them safer if we did, don’t you think?”

“Right. Observation spot on: classic Mazikeen. Just a quick chat then to further the enterprise of battening hatches.” He took in his demon’s glower and returned it with one of his own. “A very few moments, then we’ll away.” He pressed his keys into her hand as they turned to the others. Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, trying to decide what…and how…to say what he wanted. Chloe and Dan weren’t the only ones who’d deliberately avoided what was clearly a necessary meeting of minds.

“Detective? Hate to break up the scintillatingly fascinating family reunion…” he grinned broadly at Dan’s disgust and Chloe’s slackening jaw, “…but we really must be on our way, I’m afraid. Lots on the docket: busy busy, no rest for the wicked. Grant me the favor of a minute of your time before?” He strolled past her towards the back porch with a swagger and gleam, managing to both look down his nose at Dan **and** give the man enough mild bolstering to shut up and take it.

Target of said complex look bristled slightly, but he was sure Lucifer had had more than a little to do with his rather unexpected release and low bail…his ex’s partner was nothing if not a strange blend of more strange. Benevolent prick. Chloe’s constricted glare clearly stated ‘ **ass** ’ remained her term of choice.

Looking for all the world as if he was escorting her to a picnic rather than considering blowing her mortal mind with staggering amounts of critical information, Lucifer braced the door with one hand and extended the other towards Chloe, circling his wrist impatiently in a ‘come on now’ gesture. “Today if you would, Detective? Or have you the need of a formally engraved invitation? Had no idea you were so genteelly refined, but I do love a surprise…usually.” He let his voice drop on the last word.

He probably didn’t. Not anymore.

She stomped through the door he held open for her. He watched as she plunked herself on the edge of the porch steps, deliberating facing away from him and looking up at the roiling sky. Sighing, and disappointed she’d not been able to ‘go through doors’ with such alacrity otherwise, he stalked over and folded himself beside where she sat, minor wince as his fine trousers hit the cupped planks of the porch. ‘Pain in the arse, indeed’ he thought, not certain if he was referring to the discomfort on his rear end or her oblique stubbornness. Clottedly knotted blend of both, rather.

“ **What** , Lucifer? Even someone as self-involved as you can surely see, I’ve got just a couple things going on inside there, so…” Chloe grimaced and wanted to bite back the words as soon as she heard them, even before she caught the hurt glance that evaporated as she turned to face her partner. “I’m sorry. I just…” This man had saved her life. More than once. *The life of her precious daughter*. She puffed her cheeks and blew, exasperated. The list of reasons for the sigh was long and she herself was topping it.

His voice was light as he responded, but deceptively so. “No need to apologize, Detective. You’re frustrated with a few loose ends to tie up with your family, yes? I do understand that. More than I’d like, truth be told.” This last utterance he muttered with an undertone of sinister cynicism, and it earned him a look of surprise from her light eyes. She really hadn’t heard him talk about his family much come to think of it. Well, not real family often, feathery auction aside. Not other than that ridiculous divine bullshit he insisted upon stringing her along with.

Seated to his right, Chloe listened as he spoke quick, simple phrases. Warning her that there were ‘urgent matters needing addressed likely requiring my utmost attentions, mind’ and not to expect him to be around to help much on cases, or to visit for a while. “No slight intended toward you or yours my dear, and I’d certainly appreciate it if you’d let the little one know it has nothing to do with her, truly. Besides, as you mentioned, repeatedly I might add, you appear to have your larder well-stocked also? Perhaps a good time for a bit of a breather then, yeah?” He hadn’t mentioned, and had no plans to now bring up his ‘mortality sitch’ and subsequent rapid recovery backstory to the Detective. Too convoluted. And unsure if the mortal/immortal bit of the sitch was even applicable as he had no chance to test it. Best not to dwell, really, in his estimation. Better, and safer for all if she kept her distance for a time, though the thought made him sad.

She could hear in his voice that he was concerned…no - he actually sounded anxious and even a little frightened. She’d never heard that tone from him. Ever. It matched the expression she’d only seen cross his face since he’d been shot by Malcolm. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he spoke, using her professional assessment skills. Seeing trepidation on display. Apprehension. All his little tells erupting. Light flickering of his fingers on an invisible piano; his soother. Locked frame. Two worry creases in his forehead and the small puckered twist between his thick brows. Sooted eyes looking far beyond the western horizon where Chloe looked out for a second too, before she turned back. The odd squall was blowing itself out…other than that one deafening thunderclap there had been no lightening and no rain. Behind the shredding clouds the sun welled out low on the liquid horizon; a crimson bleb washing his dark eyes with reflective evening fire. She looked down at his fidgety hands dancing on his knees, the churning clouds mirrored in the glossy black stone of the unusual ring he always wore. She’d never asked him about it, and wondered why. She had insatiable curiosity about everything: it was what made her prime for this job…but yet not so with him; such an odd suspension of disbelief on her part. **Very** unusual, now that she thought about it a bit more. And no time to think on it now apparently, as he was rising to leave.

She reached out, laying a hand on his near one. They were inconsistently affectionate, and purely in a platonic sense despite his incessant barrage. Chloe was shocked to notice how warm Lucifer’s right hand was as she gave it a little brush of camaraderie - in **very** sharp contrast to the bitter chill of his ring. She gasped a little, and the sound beckoned him turn to her abruptly. His eyes, which had been reflecting the sunset’s variable ruddiness *appeared to shine without the light source* as he shifted position. Glowing for a brief second as he turned to speak to her, color independent of reflected light. Chloe paused, confused and deeply disturbed by the additional wink of oddness she thought she’d seen. Just as another followed on its heels. As they stood together, she barely listened to his last words warning her away from Lux and his home for a bit, her attention elsewhere. Under the porch now, she could still see reflection of storm clouds moving in his ring…without the clouds overhead? A trick of the light – what’s reflecting? And why does the disturbance look like something within rather than without? Just as she was preparing to examine it closer, mouth going dry, he snapped his fingers next to her face and the visual oddity vanished.

“Detective? De **TEC** tive! My eyes are up here, darling. Irresistible, I know, but alas, now’s not the time. Don’t think Daniel would appreciate us having a little fun here on your porch, infuriating busybody he is, although your mother might be more understanding.” He needed to get himself out of here quickly, and doing so meant acting the jester as he usually did so as not to trigger her warning bells. He could tell she was already picking up more than he wanted as his barriers thinned under the strain of multifactorial worries.

“Lucifer. Seriously.” She brushed the heel of her hand up her forehead. It had been a rough week; she was just overtired. Yeah. Chloe repeated that to herself, hating the fact that she was ignoring the _‘hmm, I wonder’_ good-cop-on-hunt-of-hint niggle in her gut. She tried to ignore it as Lucifer and Mazikeen left and after as well, but it was like a breach finally cracked a thick wall. Something shady was in the process of going down; she could feel it. And couldn’t help picking, even in the back of her mind.

Chloe spent the later part of the evening with her family, settling a bit into perhaps new normal with Trixie, Dan and her mother. The road ahead would be long and there was heavy baggage carried which needed to be addressed, then either repaired or discarded. But for now, the simple acts of eating and drinking, sharing bedtime routine, fostering strength despite difficulty…and showing their daughter different happiness was still possible: this was enough for them, for tonight. Dan left after being happily coerced into reading many more bedtime stories than Chloe or her mother would have tolerated, but now the random indulgence was a source of pleasure for all, not another fault to throw on the pile. Not right now. After he left and Trixie was sound asleep, Chloe and her mother sat quietly together, watching the fire die down. The glow flickering through the coals reminded Chloe that not all loose ends had been tied for her adequately this day.

“Something on your mind, Pumpkin?” Her mother’s soft words surprised Chloe out of her thoughts.

“What? No. Well, I guess maybe…but…” she laughed softly, almost helplessly as she turned a palm up and shrugged.

“Hmm…sometimes I find that a drive helps me clear my head. You know yourself best, though.” The older woman yawned and stretched, watching to see if her daughter tracked the hidden lure. Penny had seen Chloe’s expression when she came in off the porch after Lucifer and Mazikeen had departed despite her best efforts to hide it. Amateurs, all of them, really. Unfinished business, there. She saw a spark light in the aqua eyes and smiled to herself. Like shooting fish in a barrel. She sealed the deal by yawning again and saying, “Well, I’m sure glad Trixie is sleeping **so** soundly; she deserves it, poor thing. Sounds like a nice idea too, perhaps I’ll go up and read for a bit before I turn in.” She rose, brushing her daughter’s hair behind her neck and kissing the top of her head. “’Night Pumpkin. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“’Night Mom. Love you.” The unintended legacy of Malcolm Graham: she would say this to those she did every time they left her, no matter how brief it may be. Chloe waited a few moments, tangled in thought once more, but then rose quickly, gathered her keys, jacket and wits and left before she could change her mind. Upstairs, Penelope heard the door close and her daughter double-check the locks before listening to her cross the porch and start the engine. Smiling to herself again. It was usually the most independent people who responded to benign manipulation. So easy, really.

Once in the car Detective Decker knew she was going on no ‘head-clearing joyride’, but had a specific task at a specific destination.

_‘When I see something I don’t understand, yeah, I look for answers.’_

And now she actually would. No more cognitive dissonance. The stakes: her family, too high. And her partner…too many strange things cumulating around him. Plus, seeing him distressed always bothered her. He’d told her he needed space to deal with ‘important family matters’ but Lucifer had always been there for her (whether she wanted him or not so…) **and** if she swept any more weirdness under the rug she was going to trip and fall flat on her face. And he  himself was weird, not just the circumstances surrounding him. Truly so when she focused on the thought. Delusions, identity issues…clear tendencies toward violence. And yet he was her trusted partner; the man who’d come through for her many times. She shook her head a bit to clear the cobwebs, suddenly unsure of how exactly that had come to pass. She’d never really stopped to ask herself why she allowed a clearly bonkers person to work with her, get enmeshed with her family, herself…weird.

Free from any other distraction she concentrated on the slew of said weirdness: cataloguing it in her mind like any case under scrutiny. Everything from rapid movement to incredible strength to shot and no effect, to shot and bleeding to shot and dying…god, **he had died**, she suddenly knew it in her gut – had felt it happen…that inexplicable recovery…his eyes, that ring…that cold ring on his warm hand. Scars.

It was with the thought of scars foremost in her mind that she parked at Lux, slipping in quietly and simply nodding a terse greeting to the door staff. Disappearing into his elevator without even looking to see if Mazikeen had noticed her arrival, or to consider what sort of unpredictable state she might be walking into: playboy at work or the fervently distressed man she’d seen more often of late.

Scars. His. Hers. Why did that loop keep replaying in her head?

Chloe can hear the piano long before the elevator arrives on his level. It is throat-aching music such as she’s never heard; violently fearful longing. Seamed only occasionally; with such painful infrequency as a simple strand of peaceful melody wound through the malady of the rest. Lucifer is singing as well, and she does not understand or even recognize the language. More weirdness. As the doors whisper open, he turns in surprise, hyperaware of his environment now. He is bare-chested and the ebony dressing gown he wears is open over long black silk pajama bottoms riding low on his narrow hips, untethered by the belt draped in a slack arc through the ties. He rises, startled, closing the robe as he does, but not before one hand has flown to her mouth in shock. The other unconsciously rising to her own scar from her gunshot wound. A scar she will carry for the rest of her life.

But the skin on his body is perfect. Unblemished perfection, as it’s ever been, save for the scars she knows are on his back (and the fire in his eyes, and the storm in his ring)…what did he say those scars were from? _His wings… **where his wings were severed**…._

Chloe’s sharp mind gapes and lunges like a mad fanged beast, snapping, starving for something, **anything** to fill its maw.

 ** _“Who ARE you??!!?_** WHAT… **what** are…” her voice fell away, weakening as she was under the onslaught of sheer realization. Bludgeoning her. She’d asked him this before. And he’d answered. Just as he would now. To both her harsh words and the ugly flash of revulsion in her beautiful eyes.

His soft voice laced with sadness much like early frost spangled on a window pane. Beautiful. Deeply cold. “I have told you, Detective. Often, if you’ll recall. Eleventh hour though it is, perhaps you’re more inclined to believe me now?

She stumbled away from him slowly, mouth agape, his eyes glowing eerily _(dying sunset fire in dark, windblown embers: **not** a reflection. oh god), _ tracking her with newly predatory assessment. When the backs of her calves struck the couch, she collapsed in shock. Staring at him. Trying to remind herself of who he was. Her partner. Friend. But this? This… **what** of that who? Trying to rebalance what she knew with what she did not on a cracking fulcrum Chloe managed to choke out one word, hating herself a bit for how hollow she made it sound.

_“Lucifer…?”_

“….’Morningstar’, yes. Lovely to ‘truly make your acquaintance’ at last, darling. The Devil indeed most graciously at your service.”

She had to tip her head closer to hear the next words, spoken low as they were. Sadly.

“As he has ever been.”

Slightly louder. Slightly menacing?

“Or perhaps that truth matters little now, as you learn to accept the rest.”

She closed her hands over her face, unable (unwilling?) to look at him. Struggling to fit the jagged magnitude of unreality within the crisp edges of her daily experiences. She was a rational thinker, wielder of cause and effect. Master of solving puzzles. Needing to, in order to make sense of her world. Forging order out of the chaos it was, at least in her small corner.

And he was _actually the Devil?_ And what was **that** if not chaos personified?

“Oh God.” The words slipped through the trembling hands closed over her face, thrown defensively into the dense air between them. Shining and dangerous.

Her phrase landed heavily on new navigations through his exposed emotion, barbing into him. A deft response. Verbal backhand. “ **Hardly**.” The word was sharp, acrid. A sardonic lob of self-shielding.

Of himself. From **her**.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself, recognizing that tone. Protective hurt. Chloe dropped her hands, still unable to look at him. Staring at where she interlaced her fingers between her knees, detesting their shake. Willing herself into at least a semblance of calm. Hearing in his voice something familiar within an abrupt shift in her understanding of _*absolutely everything*._ The **who** of the what once more.

Chloe looked up. Lucifer had turned away from her again, running his elegant fingers over the keys of his piano, depressing them lightly so as to make no sound. Going through the motions only, as he felt he was doing in this parody of a conversation. He hadn’t wanted this new complication. Not now. Not this way. She watched his shoulders work under the changing light of the drape of black silk covering them: simultaneous revelation and obscurity. Saw the hint of his jaw, clenched. Dark head swaying slightly as he played his silent music. Some pain had no voice.

For a long time, quiet ruled them: insects trapped in the amber of divergent frames of reference. Finally she stood, commanding her legs to bear her weight. Taking in a deep breath, slowly. Approaching him.

Without turning ‘round, he responded.

“You should take your leave, now Detective. It is not safe for you here. Nor for me with you. Not any longer.” Not saying why.

“Lucifer, no. Wait.”

“ **Go**.”

She barked at him, incredulous, falling back on habit. “You’re not being fair, this is too much to process for me just yet! How can you expect -”

Cutting her off as his voice echoed off the walls, roaring, “’Not fair’, hey? How **very** unfortunate for your sensitive soul, indeed – the one you don’t believe in! And to think, I should empathize as I’ve _**tremendous experience**_ with ‘unfair’, so is that it? Well, I’m **no one’s** crutch, nor tool to enlightenment.  Mind yourself, Detective. Hark, you certainly don’t want **me** doing it for you. Painful,  those lessons are my dear, and no sterner taskmaster _**by bloody exhaustive design** _ than _**I**_.”

She closed her eyes and bowed her head slightly as the echoes receded. Not in submission. In acceptance.

He had never hurt her willingly. Quite the opposite, time and again. She knew this. They were friends, weren’t they? No matter of what sort…? Did it really matter? Did it? She had no clear answer. Not yet. But still…how did any friends work through difficulty?

How could **they**?

Thinking feverishly in her fevered brain. Falling back on habit, again.

The same way she solved her cases; with the most straightforward avenues traveled first. She could only do simple right now, stunned as she was but that did not make it any less appropriate. She said the only words fitting for a human acting humanely when they’d caused pain to someone they cared for.

“I’m so…very sorry. Lucifer, I am.”

The unexpectedness of the choice in reply caused him pause. But only for a moment. He resumed his silent melody, back still toward her direction.

His voice, light now. Skimming over the roil of his heart underneath as his fingertips did over the music hidden in the keys. As he always had done, as often as he was able. “No need for apology, my dear Detective. I’ve always known what I am, even if you have not. Hoped for more from you, yes, but I truly expected no less than that telling look of repugnance. Not really. At least you’re no longer shouting nor trying to discharge your weapon in my direction – we both know now how lead projectiles bode ill for my person.” He laughed here, but there was no joy, no familiar play in the sound. “I suppose for that capricious favor, I’ll muster some semblance of grace as you shun me. You forget my dear, it’s neither the first nor most spectacular experience I’ve had in this matter. And you know, turnabout fair play. Leave me, please.”

She walked a few steps closer, watching as the brace of his body tightened.

“I said, _‘leave me_.’” The last words spoken in his fallen voice and it froze her marrow deep within the stony cathedrals of her bones.

Chloe paused, truly wary of him for the first time. Then took another step closer.

“I can’t. Won’t.” Glad her voice wasn't trembling as her legs were.

“Oh, but you **can** \- they all do - and shall, if you value what’s good for you. Mark me on this.” Brutish wild thing, trapped, speaking in a slavering growl. Fiend of legend, here.

“I do know what's good, that’s why I **can’t** leave. Not yet. Not until you hear me.” She clenched her hands at her sides, digging her fingernails into her palms until she broke skin. Anchoring herself in the reality of pain. “I **don’t** understand. I won’t pretend to try. Not yet; it would be doing us both a disservice. You have been many things, Lucifer Morningstar; maybe many more than I can ever possibly imagine. But one of those things you’ve been, one hopefully you still are….is my friend. I don’t have many. And I do try, in all my imperfection to take care of the ones I do. I’ll leave now because you’ve asked; I understand why…but only for that reason. And…” she faltered, watching him flinch at her words. She saw he did not believe her. Couldn’t as he’d had no fundamental experience otherwise. And that more than anything cracked her rattled heart.

“Goodnight, Detective. I trust you’ll show yourself out.” With his last flat words, he rose from the piano bench and walked toward his bedchambers, pausing only when her voice, fissuring just so very slightly caught him on its roughened edges.

 _“ **I** trust_ what I **know** of  you, Lucifer. I’ll hope you can of me. And I don’t think we have to understand each other completely to keep doing that.”

He cast her a solemn backwards glance, eyes a fathomless brown once more with dark lashes caging the darker expression.

“As the phrase goes, ‘the Devil is in the details’, darling. Clichés are such for good reason.” He paused, hand running over the stone column rising from the stairs. Fingertips brushing lightly over the warning of the cuneiform she would not understand, as so much else. “Goodbye then, Chloe. Take good care.”

She watched him retreat behind his walls, hiding where she’d pushed him and knowing the who of him as she did, let him go with as much grace as she could muster in the moment. Practicing her art of resiliency, at least for now. But not without one final phrase, holding the hopeful clarity for her intention and his retention equally. “I won’t abandon you, Lucifer. You didn’t me.”

Caught in his glass trap, hands pressed to the soaring windows and looking up at the sky he heard her words over the sound of his elevator doors closing. He’d heard those before. From the architect of all realities seen and unseen. He could not hold one finite human to a promise when it had been broken by such a one as that. He absolved her of the phrase, appreciating the effort, at least. He lowered his forehead to the cool pane and closed his eyes, blunt nails pressed so hard they left tiny etches marring the pristine surface. Tenuous fingerholds on the slickness of his new reality, and he felt them woefully inadequate. His whisper fogged the view he was blinded to anyway, behind his closed lids.

“We shall see if that comes to pass, Detective, we shall indeed. The idea of tenacity in recovery is a foreign one, so forgive me my familiar doubts in the matter of this, myself. In truth, I know nothing else.”

Opening his eyes to the fog of his words marring the view through the glass.

“A storm draws nigh…and I cannot see my way.”


End file.
